White Oak Ranch
10 September 2014
I’m like a swallow bird out of control who’s lost track of his group and he’s disorientated. This is how I’m feeling since my life has been put under the magnifying glass and my every word is scrutinized via social media and investigators. It’s my fault, of that I have no doubt, I had those damn amps moved as they were smashing my eardrums, but the company that assembled it had to be able to.
Was the work carried out correctly? Do I have to call Sten and get them looked at? Is there something else I have to think about?
I think and rethink as I’m pacing, holding a mug of coffee in my hand, the fourth I’ve had today. My tachycardia is saying I’m reaching the limit, but my tiredness has other ideas.
I’m aimlessly wandering around downtown Clarksvil
